Even the Headstrong Ones
by organanation
Summary: Perry and Della take a snooze during a heavy case. The hearty kind of fluff. Mason Street Files: Golden Years.


_AN: Happy Thanksgiving to my US readers, and happy weekend to the rest of the world! I hope reading this makes you smile as much as writing it did me. Shoutout to my dear friend ValancyStirling for the quick and thorough beta work. Love you, my dear!_

Perry was sitting against the headboard in their hotel bed, the pinstriped duvet bunched up beneath his legs.

"Sit with me," he requested quietly, extending his hand to her in invitation. "Let me hold you like we used to."

Della put down the files she was preparing and crossed the room. He tucked one of the throw pillows behind his back and made space for her to sit between his knees. Della reclined against his chest, her cheek falling against his shoulder and her forehead resting against his jaw.

They hadn't sat like this in a long time, simply because they were getting older and it was easier to sit side-by-side.

She'd forgotten how much intimacy there was in this, and how much she loved it. So many problems-and cases-had been solved while they sat like this. Quiet hours, too, had passed like this, as he caught up on reading and she caught up on sleep. She could almost feel the weight of a book as it pressed into her hip where he held it open.

His eyes and attention were on the television, but he was subconsciously leaning into her embrace as much as she was his, and it wasn't long before his hand at her hip started a slow and gentle massage.

"Your beard is tickling my forehead," she mumbled.

"You're the one who insists I not shave it off," he responded teasingly. "I wouldn't mind being as carefree and clean-shaven as I was in my youth."

"It's very becoming," she retorted.

"You just have some long-buried fantasy of falling in love with a sea captain."

"You're certainly grumpy enough to be a curmudgeonly old sea captain."

He responded with a playful swat on the behind.

"Is that why you called me over here?" she asked. "So you could...what are the kids saying now? Oh-feel me up?"

His disgust was audible. "Never say that again," he requested.

"I know my rights. You'll have to try harder if you want me to stop talking."

He knew the ploy well, but never failed to fall for it. It was her favorite kind of kiss: he tipped her chin up to the right angle and brought their lips together. It was an old, practiced routine that only improved with repetition.

For a few moments, Della felt like a young woman again, wrapped up in the strong embrace of her lover, giddy with the sweetness of their kisses.

"So what _are_ your ulterior motives for getting me into bed?" she asked, settling into his frame again.

"Who said I needed a motive? Am I allowed to hold my own wife from time to time?"

"I can see the gears turning in your head," she replied.

He sighed. Never in 35 years could he keep something from her. "I wanted to make sure you're holding up alright. I know battered woman cases can get to you because of your mother," Perry said.

He knew her so well.

48 years after her abusive step-father had died, despite the fact that Perry had never met the man, he could see when the evil man's ghost was haunting her. "It will always hurt that I couldn't do anything to protect Mother from him. I know that my part in these cases isn't as important as your part, but I'm glad I can do _something_ to help them."

"Nonsense. I know their stories because they tell me. I know what justice the law prescribes. You...you _understand_ their stories. You've lived some of them. I can vouch for them in court all day, but you, Darling...you are the one who truly helps them. By listening and advocating for them. You're very strong, to be able to do that after seeing those evils up close."

"You're a wonderful man," she whispered.

"Because I have you beside me," he replied. "Close your eyes, Darling. Don't think I didn't catch you hiding those yawns at lunch."

There was no point in arguing with him. He knew her the way she knew herself-the only difference was that he was likely to give her more latitude to be human. Della closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath of his aftershave.

Half an hour later, Ken Malansky pushed open the door of the hotel room and stopped dead in his tracks when he found his boss and his boss' secretary lying in quiet repose on the bed.

"I'm so sorry-I heard voices and assumed-"

Perry nodded toward the television. The news program had ended and now a talk show was playing, but the remote was out of his reach and he didn't want to disturb Della.

"Find anything?" Perry murmured, his hand not pausing in its dance up and down Della's spine.

"No. Dead end," Ken replied.

"Too bad." The younger man was trying his best to appear unfazed, but Perry could tell he was rather shocked by the scene. "Now that you're back on the market, you should know: even the most headstrong and independent women like to be held from time to time."

"I, uh…I'll keep that in mind," Ken murmured, fumbling his way backwards out of the room.

Perry chuckled to himself and closed his eyes, basking in Della's glow. She so obviously loved being held like this, and he loved it too. How had they fallen out of the habit of ending nearly every day in that very position?

Della stirred against his chest but didn't move far. Her arms snaked around him and she pressed her face further into his warmth.

"Ken finally figured it out," Perry murmured sleepily, rubbing her back.

"It's about time," Della replied into his beard as she fumbled for a kiss.

"Wouldn't be our firm if we didn't have a slightly clueless PI on staff."

She giggled. "We might be stuck here," Della said, wiggling her toes to bring feeling back to her leg.

"Of all the places and with all the people I could be stuck with, I can say with certainty this is the top of my list."

_AN: Reviews make me happy!_


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